The hero that lost his heart
by goldenblade
Summary: That moment had been the one... the one he realized he wasn't a kid anymore


**DISCLAIMER: This great show called Hey Arnold! Does not belong to me, it belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon.**

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**The hero that lost his heart**

**By: goldenblade**

In the final hours of the afternoon, was when some people liked to find a place to just sit back, chill some and see the last rays the sun would give them before hiding into the horizon, that was a very good idea to do at this time, especially if you were with someone to give it that romantic effect everyone looks for in it.

The sky gets painted with brightish color of orange while the moon makes its first act of appearance, high into the heavens that only flying creatures have the pleasure to witness a bit closer to them.

Yeah, a very nice sight indeed. To a lot of people it was.

A lot. Except for one…

In the roof of an old house made of red bricks inhabited by the most unusual "family" you could ever meet, stood a young 10-year-old boy, his head shaped like a football, his golden locks of hair sticking up wildly from behind his head, his green eyes bright like two of the most beautiful emeralds anyone could see, his gaze half-lidded as he watched the sun make its good-night adieu to go and make the skies in the other side of the world shine.

On the roof of the lord-knows-how-many-years old house stood none other than the advice-giving child known by the name of Arnold Shortman, his long hair flowing freely with the blows the wind was sending in his direction.

Even though Arnold was one to enjoy of the limited pleasures nature could offer him in a city, he wasn't exactly in a happy mood right now.

Actually, he wasn't sure if he would ever feel complete happiness again…

He was still the same as before, long spiky blond hair, very short body, same oddly-shaped head, same green eyes. But something was different in the young child's face.

His face seemed to be, not the one of a normal ten-year-old, but rather the one of a very young adult who had experienced the struggles of the toughest places the world had to offer.

Why was he like this?...he usually asked himself that every so often now… despite the fact that he _already_ knew the answer to that question.

It all started like about, two months ago, he would say.

It started with an essay, a work he slaved himself over _day_ and _night_ which could only be continued with the hope of finding the missing piece in his heart to send the stab of a healing spear into his soul and end the very-well hidden pain inside of him forever, a pain that had been into him for all of his life, a stinging emotion inside of him that he had strongly pushed aside all these years… and thus ended with a trip to one of the most foreign lands called San Lorenzo.

Arnold had chosen that country, supposedly being interested in "the community's exotic architecture and the desire of getting to see some of the country's ancient ruins", his teacher, Mr. Simmons, had happily agreed while everyone thought this would be like a sort of school adventure for them… little did they know about Arnold's secret agenda, which turned their safe little school field trip into real-life, full-scale jungle adventure.

He would never forget it… all those days traversing through the jungle, climbing dangerous cliffs, confronting evil pirates, taking down one of the most evil humans he had ever met in his short life and saving a tribe of people known to him as the green eyes, it had been like something out of a tale, a novel, a _movie_ even.

Of course, he did not came back fully loaded. His arms were stinging with faint red scratches on them, his face had the red mark of a powerful hand that had been used against him by his adversary, and also there were a few scars in his chest as well as his legs.

But Arnold did not care about the scars on his body, of course they hurt a little more when they had to be healed at Dr. Steiglitz' office in the hospital… but those didn't hurt as much as the scars that now lay around his soul.

Scars that he was certain wouldn't leave him for a long time…

This leaded him to acknowledge that life is not any sort of novel.

Sure, in those stories of novels and movies the hero of the story always defeated the bad guy, rescued the people from a definite demise, saved the day and got the girl… but the thing is he did not went there to play hero. He hadn't gone there to overpower a bad guy and he didn't want a girl.

The only thing he wanted was that which he had longed for his entire life…

That which had been taken away from him when he had just been a little baby.

The reason he had always been who he was.

The reason he had always been the advice-giver, the golden boy.

The object of his dreams and nightmares… His parents.

That was his original mission, the _real_ purpose he had chosen to go all the way there, to at long last find his long-lost mother and father, and finally be complete once again.

And he did…

When he and his friends had finally managed to find the hidden city of the green-eyed people, he had met up with the chief of the tribe, a shaman called Crevilio, he had told him everything he needed to hear, he told Arnold that he would take him to that he had lost so long ago, but only Arnold was allowed to go, his friends stayed behind in the city while he and the chief ventured off into the jungle.

Almost at what would've been the middle of the trail, Crevilio had told "the child with emerald eyes", as the green-eyes called Arnold, that he had to continue the way on his own, Arnold didn't object at that and just let the old shaman disappear into the jungle once more.

When he finished the trail, he was beyond shocked by what he had come upon; it was a cliff from where you could see the setting sun in the horizon, with the deep-blue waters of the sea sparkling under its brilliance… and in front of him… were _them._

This was it… He did it.

He had done it.

He found them.

He had really found them…

He had found them _dead._

In front of him were not the forms of a man and a woman he would've embraced upon seeing. Instead his journey had ended in the sight of two decorate (and very elegant) tombstones with the names of Miles Shortman and Stella Shortman engraved in them. The description in them was in Spanish and said "_Los grandes salvadores de la tribu de los ojos verdes" _to which he could fluently translate to _"the great saviors of the tribe of the green-eyes"._

That was it. That was the end. All his dreams, hopes, illusions had been _crushed. _His poor young heart had been _shattered. _His struggles, his wounds, his fights… had been for _nothing._

Most kids his age would've curled up on the floor into a tight ball and start to weep right then and there. But he hadn't. Not a chocking sound was heard, not a sob was made, not a tear was shed…

Instead he'd just fallen to his knees and literally _screamed. _

The scream had been one like no one before, his wordless decibels of voice showing the feeling of loneliness, heartbreak and sorrow.

And _then _when the horrible truth had finally been unveiled to him, his new found enemy La Sombra had returned now that the child had gained knowledge of the demise of the green-eyes' defenders… Arnold had used the power of La Corazon to lay the ultimate punishment against the shadowy man for his actions, thus saving the green-eyes and finishing his diseased parents' legacy.

Which leads us to right now…

He could feel it… the beat of the sacred jewel of the green-eyes, La Corazon, even though being a thousand miles away from the city of the green-eyes he could feel it's wild beating just in sync with the beats of his own heart… it's warmth, however, was not enough to cure the coldness inside the hole in the heart of the blond.

In the course of a week the young boy had aged a thousand years past his prime, and of course he was still the advice-giver, a source of help his friends would contact when they didn't know what to do… The thing is he wasn't the same as before.

His optimism was gone, now he always would always first look upon the _realistic _side rather than the _bright _side of things, and he would take that situation in and think of a solution in more complicated way than he did before, such complicated ways of fixing troubles shouldn't be no child's job.

Now finally knowing the truth that his parents were never going to come back and that he would most likely meet them when he had crossed to the other side, he should've been able to mourn, grieve, just like his grandparents… But what difference would _that _make? Nothing, it would only remind him of his childish fantasies that were nothing but a mere illusion.

It was almost ironic, he had gone to that trip thinking he would come back the happiest boy on earth. But instead he come back incomplete.

Sure, he had saved a tribe of innocent people from a monster, and he had completed his parents' final bow, he had completed their last purpose but instead of getting his greatest wish, he lost something that was like a part of himself…

His innocence.

Not only because of having lost his parents, but also for the fact that he had actually gone to the extreme just for the wish of avenging his parents' names against La Sombra, he had used La Corazon to eliminate him of the face of the planet, he, at the age of ten had practically _killed _a man… and he _hated _that fact.

_That _moment had been the one… the one he realized he wasn't a kid anymore.

Almost a lot of bad things could describe Arnold right now, he had never let that overcome his mind, but now looking back on it he found out he had felt it every fifth day of the 10th month.

Every October 5th was like a giant fist that punched him in the gut, every year hurting a little more and more.

Disappointed, tired, weary, crushed, sad, angry, agonizing, incomplete, those were all the things Arnold was now, if you could put it all in one simple word it would be so easy to figure it out. For him it had been, in the very first try.

In a quick version… he was broken.

His friends were of no disturbance to him, they knew better that to even _talk _to him about something parent-relatedever again, and yet Arnold knew that not being able to help him through this made them feel helpless.

And now when they look at him… they gaze with different motives, some sadly, some respectfully, some pitifully, some honorably. They gaze at him the kid who had given everything and got nothing. They gaze at him, the parentless kid, the orphan boy, the crushed child, the hurt soul, the broken Saint, the fallen Angel, the hero that lost his heart.

Still rooted on his spot atop the Sunset Arms he turned on a heel to walk back into his home, the afternoon was cold and even though he pretty much didn't mind it anymore he noted he should probably retrieve a jacket before he got sick.

As the sky started being covered in the cape of darkness of the night, he knew that even though his parents were actually dead, _he_ wasn't. He was still alive and kicking, he could still move and he could still talk, but that was just on the outside. He really didn't know about the inside.

Although if you asked him his opinion…

He'd rather be dead.

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**A/N: **Bit too dramatic guys? You surely want to ask me what the heck was I even thinking when I wrote this, I don't know, I just felt like writing an angsty Arnold story, I never see much of those anyway, hope you liked it and please tell me If I exaggerated in some parts.

And yes, I know Arnold's a bit too OOC here but I intended to be that way, sorry if you don't like my portrayal of him here.

See ya!


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